Chapter Twenty
“I’ve created a monster,” Dorian says between rapid breaths.
He’s completely naked, still sitting upright on the couch with me straddled on his lap, resting my head wearily on his bare shoulder. My sheer nighty is still intact except for my scanty thong that Dorian eagerly ripped right off of me so I could mount him with haste.
“Have you?” I breathe. I feel lightheaded, almost intoxicated, though I know I’m only slightly buzzed from the alcohol.
“That was… incredible.” Dorian sounds bewildered, as if he can’t understand how someone like me could unravel him. “Sure you don’t have some salacious past I don’t know about?”
“Hey!” I say, playfully slapping his shoulder. “I guess we all have our talents. Some are just a bit more depraved than others,” I giggle. I groggily lift my head to look in his glossy, drowsy eyes. “Honestly, I’ve never been like this with anyone else. I know you don’t want to hear that or you don’t believe it, but there’s something about you. When I’m with you…,” I explain. I can’t find the words though they’re right on the tip of my tongue. I search Dorian’s crystal blues for understanding.
“I know,” is all he says in response. What does that mean? He knows how I feel because he feels the same way? Or he gets what I’m trying to convey? “Looks like I owe you a pair of panties,” Dorian chuckles, changing the subject.
“I’ve got another pair in my car. No worries.”
“And how do you expect to go out and get them? Dressed like that?” Dorian’s lips turn up into an amused smirk. My mouth forms into an ‘O,’ causing him to look even more tickled. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dorian gently tries to lift me off of him and I reluctantly dismount him. He grabs his rumpled sweats from off the floor and pulls them on, while I watch him from the couch. My legs are still shaky from the overwhelming orgasm I suffered minutes ago.
Dorian makes his way to a phone and punches in a number. He’s calling room service. He orders a variety of dishes, and even loads up on desserts. I shake my head at him when he hangs up and looks my way.
“What?” he asks with shrugged shoulders. He looks so young right now, and I remember that he actually is young. He’s still a kid in most people’s eyes.
“Think you ordered enough? Geez, how much do you think I eat?” I giggle. I mentally scold myself. I’m always extra giggly around Dorian. So not me.
“I need to ensure you’re replenished. I highly doubt you ate before you came here. Besides, I’m famished. Haven’t been eating much these past few days.” His expression is troubled as if he’s recalling an unpleasant memory.
“You too?” I say quietly.
Dorian’s head snaps up and his eyes meet mine. He knows what I mean. He’s been as tormented as I have since Monday evening. He caused the turmoil yet he’s had to suffer through it as well. No further explanation is needed. We both feel the inexplicable need for each other.
I shakily make my way to my feet and retreat to the bathroom in the bedroom. Hanging on the hook is one of Dorian’s white dress shirts, probably the one he wore today. I slip it on over my lucent slip and button it halfway up. It smells like him, like pure sin and heaven. What a combination. I let his scent envelop me, trying to record it to memory. I want it all over me.
When I step back into the living room area, Dorian is looking out through the glass doors again. Into the darkness. The music has changed and I recognize it as the band he introduced me to that evening in his car. I downloaded their album soon after he played it for me. I take a deep breath and walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around the front of his waist. It’s a risky move, something I would never do. But it feels so good, holding him. Dorian pulls me tighter around him, obviously appreciative of the contact. I exhale in relief.
“What do you see tonight, Dorian?” I murmur, eyes closed, resting my head against his bare broad back.
“The usual. Depravity, pain, lust, deceit,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“No happiness and love?” I take a deep whiff of his warm skin. Ahhhh.
“Oh, there is.” He turns to face me, still holding my arms around him. His expression is so content, so tender. I can’t bear to tear my eyes from his. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him so vulnerable.
Three quick raps on the door interrupt our intense moment. We both look towards the door defensively with stern expressions. When a voice on the other side of the door announces the arrival of room service, we both relax our tense stances. Dorian walks over to the door to let in the concierge with our feast on his wheeled cart. Once he’s gone, Dorian leads me to the dining table where a huge spread of Italian antipasti, oysters on a half-shell, stuffed mushrooms, and fresh fruit await us. He’s also taken the liberty of ordering more decadent desserts than appropriate.